The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
Sonnet 54
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
Sonnet 35
Of all the flowers, methinks a rose is best.
Two noble kinsmen
Shakespeare for absolute beginners 